The Wonders of Baking
by Snoaz
Summary: Perhaps celebrating New Year's in Goldenrod is not that bad, after all. Especially when there's prospects of cherry pie. Happy new year!


**A/N:**

**I'd never really contemplated this pairing before, but someone I could not refuse requested I write this. Half-way in the story I started shipping it, too: funny how that works. **

**Happy new year to all of you! Be safe and healthy.**

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><p><span>The Wonders of Baking<span>

It had been a while since Hibiki had been home. Travelling all around Johto, certifying his championship, catching up with the many friends he'd made over the years (human or pokémon) tended to drive Newbark Town to the back of his mind. Never for long, mind, only momentarily – but it made him feel a little guilty nonetheless.

With his childhood dreams fulfilled, home should no longer play second fiddle. Because should it not be like this – Hibiki sometimes wondered confusedly and a little disillusioned, looking up at the night sky when out camping with his pokémon – that once you achieve something you start desiring those things you left behind? Instead he feels himself craving more and more.

(For how long, Hibiki thinks, the image of dull red eyes underneath a snowy cap flashing through his mind.)

The point is – it had been a while since Hibiki had been home, and today of all days he really _should_ have been drinking his mother's hot cacao and brush off her worried comments when lighting fireworks at midnight. Instead, here is at Goldenrod's casino, the centre of activity within the city and therefore the centre of activity in the whole of Johto.

And okay, that _is _kind of cool. But again: not exactly where he should be.

He'd probably not be wearing a tux at home, which Hibiki is not sure classifies as an up - or downside. He's more a hoodie kind-of-guy, but he has to admit (only to himself and only while feeling slightly ridiculous) that he does sort of looks good in it.

What also counts as an upside (perhaps) is the fact that it is Whitney who is accompanying him. Well, not in the literal sense: being both gym leader and gifted with a seemingly endless reservoir of energy, his 'date' flies from guest to guest like a pretty pink bee. Still, despite her current enthusiastic performance of 'life of the party' it _had _been her who'd ringed him a couple of weeks ago, inquiring him about his plans for New Year's and happily steamrolling over any counter-arguments he might have raised.

Not that he had raised many, mind, because this was _Goldenrod _they were talking about, and celebrating New Year's here would definitely qualify as eventful.

Also, he liked Whitney. Not in that way, you know, but in a friendly-friends way.

He supposes.

Looking around the party, which is strictly black-tie, Hibiki recognises some people as even more people seem to recognise him. Sneaky glances and downright blatant starting are a frequent occurrence; courtesy, he supposes, of his champion title. There are a couple of friends as well, but presently Hibiki stands alone, a little to the side. He watches as Whitney yet again switches conversation partner, pink dress fluttering as she does so. One would think she'd invited all these people herself, and for some reason Hibiki's mouth corner turns down a bit at that thought. Which is all sorts of ridiculous, because of course Hibiki had not been the only one receiving that phone call.

Distracting himself with food seems a good option about right now (when isn't it, the gullible part of him thinks – the part raised on home-cooked meals so good second helpings were never _not_ an option.) He reaches for one of the bowls placed on the side table next to him and retrieves a muffin with raisins.

His mum used to make those.

Just as he takes his first bite with anticipation, he hears a loud clapping sound near his ear.

"Good, you're taking the food! No-one does. Why d'you think that is? It doesn't look bad, does it? In fact, I _know _it doesn't. And it tastes deliciously. _Right_?"

Hibiki attempts to say something in response to Whitney's stream of words – because naturally it is she who's applauded him for taking the muffin – but before he has so much as opened his mouth, Whitney holds up a hand.

"When giving your reply, know that it was I who made them. So. What do you think?"

She gives him a winning smile, appearance quite possibly radiant.

Hibiki blinks for a second, slightly thrown off-balance by her enthusiasm (it can be quite overwhelming when presented without warning) but then recalls her question.

"Oh – eh. Yes. Yes, of course it's good. Quite good, actually."

Well, that might be stretching the truth a little, but his mother has always taught him to be polite. And Whitney's enthusiasm has a high degree of contagiousness to it: it makes you enthuse about things you were moments earlier indifferent to. Curious, that. But nice too. Spirit has never been a bad thing.

"Yah, I knew you'd like them." She claps her hands once, looking pleased, before adding, "You know, baking really is a hobby of mine. I can do turbans and cakes, and pies too – cherry is my specialty. There's this one ingredient that makes it stand out from all other cherry pies you'll ever try. But, of course I can't spill that here. Chef's secret."

She zips her mouth with a dainty finger, and rather than thinking about pie or possible secret ingredients (it could be anything, from cinnamon to oran berries to vanilla – his mother had taught him her fair share of cooking lessons) Hibiki instead finds himself picturing Whitney in her kitchen: wearing a pink apron with little Jigglypuff stitched to it; pouring Moo Moo milk a bowl; the kitchen covered in a fine sheet of flour.

It makes him smile.

Domesticity is not hard to picture on Whitney, despite her being a gym leader and a fierce one at that. The Goldenrod Gym being decorated with plushies might have something to do with that.

"I'd like to try that pie some time," he says and suddenly realises he really does want to. He wants to see if Whitney's kitchen really does become a happy mess when she's baking, and whether her apron really is pink (it must be.) Also, it's been a long time since he's had some home-made pie. There's a big difference between pie from the store and pie straight from the oven: he's learned that the hard way.

Whitney smiles at his exclamation, and grabs another muffin from the bowl. "You will – but for now, keep yourself happy with these," and stuffs the muffin in his hand.

She then proceeds to grab him by the arm to introduce him to some guests, all with whom Whitney seems intimately acquainted. They pass Falkner and Morty, the first awkwardly perched on his bar stool while the latter's eyes drift casually through the crowded room, sometimes pausing at points mid-air Hibiki can't discern anything interesting about. Then there's the casino owner, looking like he's about to burst with either pride or stress at having so many people in his place, and DJ Mary, chattering animatedly with a crowd of (mostly male) onlookers.

Whitney passes her by quicker than the others and Hibiki briefly wonders why, before a hand tugs at his sleeve and he turns around to see two smiling women, camera in hand. Not for the first time tonight Hibiki is reminded of the fact that people like to take pictures with celebrities and that he is now counted as one of them.

He proceeds to stand in-between his admirers, not without his share of familiar awkwardness, and smiles to the camera Whitney has been handed. At the flash, Hibiki's smile drops immediately and he waves off the women's words of thanks with a 'no problem, no problem.'

It _isn't _a problem, but he doesn't think he'll ever get used to it.

Meanwhile, the thing Whitney evidently will never get used to is that of playing second fiddle.

"What's with me playing the role of photographer," she grumbles as soon as the two women have disappeared, "I'm born to stand _in front_ of the camera, not behind it. But they pretended I didn't even exist!"

She huffs, hand on hip.

Hibiki thinks he now ought to say something like 'Of course you're the real star here,' but can't think of any phrase that won't come out incredibly awkwardly. So instead he gives her a smile that hopefully conveys something along the same line and then in turn grabs her by the arm to steer her in the direction of the bar.

They order shots – well, Whitney does and Hibiki lets himself be persuaded to try some too. The taste of it burns in his throat but not unpleasantly so, and soon he gives up trying to decipher the ingredients (usually something fruity in a very non-descriptive way) and instead laughs at the ridiculous names given to the cocktails.

"Cinnabar Sensation," he wheezes, rubbing his throat, "definitely lives up to its name."

"Never drink something with pure tomato berry juice in it, silly," Whitney replies, a light blossom colouring her cheeks. "No, you should try this: 'Clefairy Dust.'" She lifts a glass filled with a bright fuchsia goodie.

"I'm not drinking anything pink," he says, feeling he should keep up something of his pride now that he is slouched on a bar stool laughing at cocktail names.

"Your loss!" Whitney declares, tossing her head back and emptying the glass of its contents. And yes, her rosy cheeks and bright shining eyes are definitely not an unbecoming look – in fact, Hibiki finds himself thinking she looks rather pretty. For a moment he wonders if he should feel weird about that, but then decides he's too far gone to care.

And besides, the only thing Whitney would mind about his trail of thought were she to find out, is the fact that he kept it to himself. But hey, he's not drunk enough yet to be spilling secrets.

They continue in this fashion until suddenly the atmosphere in the room subtly changes: the level of excitement rises together with the noise volume and one look at the giant clock projected on the wall explains why. 2011 is almost a thing of the past.

Champagne arrives seemingly out of nowhere, and Hibiki finds himself clutching a glass despite his dubious need for any more alcohol. It doesn't matter, though, not when Whitney starts a toast and smiles at him, so very prettily – and his sane mind really has left him at this point, hasn't it?

The count-down is loud and excited, exactly as it should be in a crowed casino hall at New Year's. The contrast with Newbark Town hits him for a moment (he'd be outside with Mother and Kotone right about now, waiting for the fireworks, the night sky completely dark in these last moments before twelve 'o clock) but instead of feeling guilty or sad he feels surprisingly neutral at this knowledge. Newbark is home, but Goldenrod is something else.

There's no need for comparisons.

And he doesn't know if he's in his right mind with thoughts like that, but then the clock chimes and the hall erupts and Hibiki and Whitney look at each other for a second – time momentarily suspended – before it starts ticking again as Whitney crashes into him, squeezing the life out of him.

"Happy new year Hibiki," she sighs somewhere beneath his shoulder.

"Happy new year Whitney," he answers, the smell of her perfume suffusing his brain and making him slightly light-headed.

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><p>Later there is more champagne and more hugs and kisses from friends and strangers alike (Hibiki's brain informs him from a far distance this would never happen when sober) and then firework watching on top of the department store building. The view is spectacular, the black night sky filled with a whole spectrum of colours. With the wind ruffling his hair, his feelings high on champagne and the prospect of a whole new year ahead of him to make his own, he feels that somehow he needs to remember this moment, needs to engrave it in his mind.<p>

He reaches for Whitney's hand, squeezes it. It gets him a giddy smile in response and Whitney leans in to whisper in his ear, "This year is going to be great."

"I know," he says, and smiles.

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><p>It's two days after New Year's when Hibiki knocks on Whitney's front door, trying to focus on the Christmas wreath attached to it instead of listening to his brain telling him he is acting like a fool.<p>

He doesn't know what he's doing.

Whitney opens the door with a flourish and has a momentarily stunned expression on her face, quickly replaced by a merry smile.

"Hibiki! I didn't know you were still in town?"

"Eh – yes... I planned on leaving this afternoon, but, you know…" he pauses, clears his throat, feels suddenly a little hot in the winter chill. "That cherry pie you promised?"

Whitney frowns and seems to mentally retrace their entire conversation on New Year's eve (an impressive feat, seeing as Hibiki can't remember half of it) and then puts her hand on her hip with a smile.

"_Right. _You want the recipe of my famous cherry pie."

"… maybe? Or just a slice of pie instead?"

Whitney continues watching him with a little smile, head slightly tilted. Hibiki really does not recall being this hot just ten minutes ago, or this apprehensive for that matter.

"I could help you – bake it – if you'd like? Ehm."

Whitney laughs then, and reaches out to haul him inside by his arm. "Silly, don't fret. Of course you can help. _On the one condition that you do exactly as I say._" She fixes him a stern gaze, before continuing dragging him to the kitchen.

Enthusiasm was never a problem with Whitney.

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><p>It turns out that Whitney <em>does<em> use a pink apron, though with no Jigglypuff stitched to it (instead there's a large Miltank on the front: should have guessed that one) and the kitchen is also soon turned into a happy mess, despite Hibiki's best attempts at keeping things tidy.

Whitney was not lying when she'd bragged about her cherry pie. Fresh from the oven it is warm, crusty and _delicious, _exactly how home-made pie should be. He still doesn't know what the secret ingredient is – Whitney made him turn around when she added it and he didn't dare take a peek in fear of her wrath – but it doesn't matter. Perhaps he'll find out when he comes by more often.

It is like Whitney is reading his mind, because she says, "You're not too bad at this, Hibiki. Perhaps we should turn this into a New Year's tradition."

"Perhaps," he says, smiling.

He takes another bite from his pie and feels a little happier still, if that was even possible.

"I think the cake is too good to be eaten only on New Year's, though," he says, "perhaps we could make it a monthly tradition instead?"

Whitney lifts a finger to her chin, assuming a thinking-position. "_Well_, I don't like to share my powers in the kitchen, but you are a pretty rewarding baking audience it must be said. So I guess we could make it work."

She smiles and he returns it, feeling slightly giddy – and yes, it is only the prospect of pie that makes him feel that way. Only the pie of course.


End file.
